


Truth or Consequences

by catawhumpus (ironmermaidens)



Series: Crown AU [6]
Category: Hermitcraft
Genre: Conditioning, Drugging, Flashbacks, Gen, Interrogation, Master/Pet Dynamics, display of threats, hc crown au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmermaidens/pseuds/catawhumpus
Series: Crown AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000731
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Truth or Consequences

The headquarters was never empty. There was always work to be done, plans to be made, to be executed, borders to be secured and guarded. For this time of evening, it's remarkably crowded. The rebellion had won a victory against the crown, and celebration was in order. That's what his lieutenant had said, anyway. Hels was not one for such frivolity nor was he an optimist by nature, but he had agreed to make an appearance for such a momentous occasion. It wasn't every day that the rebellion gained a defector from the crown, after all. Even less often were they members of the King's royal court. 

The King's royal court had been his own, once upon a time. He knew the faces of his council, his champion, his consort. He knew the face of the defector, though Hels had yet to be properly introduced to him.

Their eyes meet across the room. He recognizes the crimson irises of the consort from here, and Hels knows from the way the consort's eyes widen that he recognizes Hels too. Or perhaps he recognizes someone that Hels is not. 

Hels had watched each and every one of the royal court lose their will to the crown's influence, but perhaps the hardest was the consort. He wore defiance in his eyes in every obeyed command, during every brutal beating, but even he had reached a limit. Even he had succumbed to the whims of the crown.

When the consort no longer greeted the King's orders with bared teeth, with cutting words that toed the line of disobedience, that is when Helsknight knew he could not allow the crown to remain in power. He would not allow it to do to him what it had done to the consort.

He watches the consort now and when he looks into his eyes he sees a spark. It flickers as if fighting against a snuffer, and Hels finds himself holding his breath. The consort steps away from his companion, the lieutenant, and towards the rebellion's leader. He takes a step towards Hels.

He takes another step, takes another and bumps shoulders with one of the foot soldiers. His eyes stay fixed on Hels. He reaches blindly to the side, until his fingers meet the handle of a knife. They curl around it so slowly, so delicately, almost as if the consort is walking through a dream. He doesn't blink. Another step and the knife is dragged off the table, the consort's arm falling back to his side. 

The lieutenant's attention is finally brought back to his companion, and a frown mars his face. Hels can see his mouth moving out of the corner of his eyes, but cannot hear what he says over the din of the crowd. He thinks he must be calling out to the consort. The consort ignores him too. The flickering spark in his eyes finally catches, and in an instant his face erupts into a blazing inferno. The consort curls his lip into a snarl and launches himself at Hels with a guttural scream. He holds the knife aloft and Hels knows it's meant to find its place between his ribs.

The crowd parts for him like the sea, terror like crashing waves. The consort is fast, but his lieutenant is faster, a restraining arm wrapped around the consort's chest, a hand wrapped around his wrist. The consort's gaze stays pinned on Hels even as he screams and snarls and struggles in the lieutenant’s grasp, kicking at his shins and clawing at his arm. 

He might have been a match for his counterpart in another lifetime. Hels could see a hint of muscle in his form, all but lost to a pampered palace lifestyle. He fights a losing battle, yet still he fights. Hels cocks his head as he watches the consort's struggle, unperturbed. 

The foot soldiers have recovered enough to aid the lieutenant now, splash potions of weakness shattering on the ground, carefully aimed such that only the consort seems to feel the effects. His movements slow, his animalistic growls quiet, and his eyes remain fixed on Hels even as his eyelids flutter. An age seems to pass before finally the consort's eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp in the lieutenant's arms. The knife falls from his grasp and hits the ground with a clatter. 

Without missing a beat the lieutenant hoists the consort over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. His expression twists into a strained smile. 

"Sorry everyone. Looks like this party's getting cut a little short." he says with a chortle. He's the only one that laughs. "Eheh... Hels. I'll be taking him to my quarters. If we could have a few words once I've got him settled?"

Hels nods once. "In mine." 

His lieutenant nods back, and without another word he turns, carrying the consort out of the main hall of the headquarters, leaving a silent crowd in his wake.

__

There's a knock on the door to Hels's quarters, deceptively demure considering events not even an hour prior. Hels doesn't need to see who is on the other side to know that his lieutenant has arrived.

"Come in," Hels says, his eyes remaining on the map spread across the table, the pins and pawn formations that litter its surface. Some might call him obsessive in how often he was found pouring over plans and diagrams, but he would argue that he was nothing if not thorough. The map had little relevance to the conversation he was about to have, of course, but it was a comforting familiarity in an unprecedented situation. If anyone would understand, it would be his lieutenant.

The door opens with a quiet click and Xisuma enters, his usual warm expression traded for something a little more candidly exhausted. He knew the importance of keeping up appearances with the rank and file. It was part of the reason Hels had chosen him as lieutenant. Alone with Hels, however, he let his facade drop.

"Well, that didn't exactly go to plan," Xisuma says sheepishly.

"No," Hels responds. "I should say not."

"...I apologize for that. I should have known better than to think he would be ready for something like that." Xisuma says. "Me, of all people..."

Hels hums thoughtfully at that. Xisuma knew more than most what it felt like to have a megalomaniacal counterpart wearing your face. The fact that Xisuma had personally tucked his counterpart into bed while Hels plotted the demise of his own notwithstanding. "You think it's because I look like the King."

"There's no other reason, really. He was fine until he saw you." Xisuma sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I've really messed up his chances here, haven't I? Who would trust him after a stunt like that..."

"They'll trust him," Hels says. Xisuma looks up and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. Hels glances at him, his expression unchanging. "They'll trust him."

"Do you?"

Hels lets his gaze drop back to map on the table, tapping his fingers against the edge of it. "Yes. I do."

He glances once more to Xisuma, who looks unsure. "I want to speak to him when he's awake. Alone."

__

It isn't until the next morning that Hels gets his chance to speak with the consort. Xisuma insists he waits until they've all had a chance to eat breakfast. Hels knows that what he's really after is a chance to clear the room of anything his counterpart may use as a weapon, and to warn him that Hels was coming. He doesn't bother telling Xisuma to leave things as they were. He knows Xisuma will not listen. 

He passes Xisuma in the hallway, and they exchange nods in greeting. Xisuma continues on his way, casual to the untrained eye, but Hels sees the tension in his shoulders. He thinks it must take everything Xisuma has not to comment on the sword Hels wears on his belt. 

He knocks once on the door to Xisuma's quarters before turning the knob and entering. He's unsurprised to find the consort kneeling in wait, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his head bowed, his eyes on the floor. His eyes are vacant, unreadable. They're so much different from the eyes Hels saw last night.

Hels very rarely found himself in his lieutenant's quarters, but he knew the man held his surroundings to a particular standard. A table drawer cracked open, a wardrobe door slightly ajar, the papers on his desk just barely askew, the rumpled corner of a rug. It all told a very different story than the figure kneeling before him might have wanted. 

Hels keeps his expression carefully neutral as he closes the door behind him. It seems to echo like thunder in the modest room they occupied. The consort doesn't flinch. Instead he begins to speak, a monotonous, empty speech, recited as if he'd had to say the words a hundred times before.

"I apologize for my transgressions, my K—" the consort flounders, struggles to find the appropriate title for the man that stood before him. "I apologize... Sir. I accept whatever punishment you deem fit for my behavior. I will endure not to misbehave again."

Hels hums and wordlessly he pulls his sword partly from its sheath. This time the consort does flinch, nearly imperceptible, just like his counterpart. "Is that so?"

The consort's breath hitches, and he nods. "Yes, my—Sir."

He pulls the sword fully from its sheath, watches as minute dread fills the consort's eyes even as they stay fixed on a spot somewhere on the ground, carefully avoiding the sword in Hels's hand, carefully avoiding his face. He begins to circle the consort, each thump of his boots against the carpet as Hels moves out of the consort’s line of sight making his breath grow shakier and shakier. 

Hels stops at the consort's back, watching him for just a moment. He doesn't move to cower from Hels or protect himself, he doesn't run for the door. He waits for Hels to strike him down. 

He takes the tip of his sword and brings it to the small of the consort's back, waits for the flinch he knows will come before using it to lift the consort's shirt, revealing a patchwork of crisscrossing scars, faint ones he recognizes as being his own handiwork, but far more that were from punishments Hels had not been around to administer. Some of them are angry and pink, and he recalls Xisuma telling him the state the consort had arrived in. They would still be scabbed over and infected if not for the rebellion's healers. 

"It appears you aren't a very fast learner."

"No, my King," the consort breathes. He makes no effort to correct himself. Hels wonders if it's still Xisuma's bedchambers the consort is in right now, or if he finds himself in another. "I will try harder. I swear it."

Hels pulls the sword away from the consort's back, lets his shirt drop back down to cover him, and watches a shudder rake his shoulders. He moves again, back around until he's once more standing in front of the consort.

"Evil Xisuma," Hels says. Something flashes in his expression for just a moment, too quick for Hels to analyze, before his gaze returns to a blank and unreadable state. 

"Yes... Sir?" he responds.

"Did you intend to kill me yesterday?"

"...Yes, Sir." 

Hels smirks at the response. He takes his sword by the blade, holds it so the hilt is within the consort's reach. The consort blinks, and for the first time allows emotion to pass his face with a confused furrow of his brow. Hesitantly, he reaches out, lets his fingers brush against the grip before wrapping around it. His gaze traces up the blade, follows Hels's arm to his shoulder, his shoulder to his neck, until finally Evil Xisuma's eyes meet his.

"Spar with me, Evil Xisuma. I want to see what you're capable of."


End file.
